SOMETHING EXTRA SPECIAL
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: It's Thanksgiving. Sam and Dean Winchester find a way to celebrate and come to realize they have a lot for which to be thankful. A very loose tag to episode 4x10 - Heaven and Hell. Not much in the way of spoilers. Rate K-plus for some minor swearing.


Disclaimer: I surely don't own the boys or anything related to Supernatural. Mr. Kripke has that distinct honor. Darn it.

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**Something Extra Special  
****_A Thanksgiving Day Story_**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

The earthy, sinuous scent of gun oil wafted upward as Dean Winchester studiously finished cleaning the last of their guns—his favored Colt 1911—giving it a final rub with the soiled rag before setting it down on the old towel lying on the bed. The young hunter gathered the rest of the guns and packed them back into the waiting weapons bag, glancing over at his brother who sat staring fixedly at the television set at the foot of his bed as he did so. It was tuned to the last few minutes of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade but the volume was turned so low as to be nonexistent, leaving the gigantic character balloons to sway and bob to and fro in silence.

In the week since Dean had tearfully—and shamefully in his opinion—confessed about his time in Hell to Sam, his brother had been quiet—too quiet—but then so had he. He'd felt too exposed and raw to do much more than hide behind his cracked and crumbled walls. Now a piss poor fortress in the midst of their current raging storm.

It wasn't a cold silence between them by any means, but Dean's guilt and shame continued to disallow the immediate and complete absolution Sam had first offered there by the Impala. And the silence was getting to him. Particularly today. It was a holiday—Thanksgiving—and suddenly Dean wanted—no, _needed_—to find a way to break it.

He scooted to the edge of the mattress and dropped his booted feet to the floor. Dean cleared his throat and then spoke, his voice low, almost rusty from disuse. "Do you hate me?"

Startled from his thoughts, Sam's gaze jerked from the TV to his brother. "What?"

"Do you hate me, Sam? For the things I told you," Dean swallowed hard, "—for the things that told you I…did." He kept his eyes glued to his boot laces.

Turning to fully face Dean, Sam nudged his knee up against his brother's, pushing until Dean met his gaze. "No. God, Dean, I don't hate you. I told you—it tears me up inside to know what you went through," Sam paused when Dean flinched. "There's no way I could hate you."

"You've been…quiet."

"What?"

"You've hardly talked to me this past week. I thought—you know—maybe you hated me now."

"Shit! No, Dean, I'm sorry. I know I've been quiet. It's just that—I've…I've been trying to wrap my mind around everything, you know? There's been so much to…" Sam's voice drifted off and he dropped his chin to his chest. "I didn't mean for you to think I hated you."

Eyes fixed on the top of Sam's shaggy head, it was Dean's turn to give a nudge with his knee. "It's okay, Sammy. I haven't exactly been Mr. Talkative lately either, right?"

"I guess life gets a little overwhelming, especially if your last name is Winchester."

"Now that's the understatement of the year, little brother." Dean felt his ever-present burden lift just a little and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Dean smiled a genuine if small smile. He stood suddenly, grabbing his leather jacket off the end of the bed.

Sam looked up at him in surprise. "What're you doing?"

Dean slid his arms into the arms of his jacket. "It's Thanksgiving, Sammy boy. I'm gonna go get us some snacks and beer. Wanna come?"

The younger man looked at his watch, a frown creasing his brow for a split second and then disappearing. "Nah. I—I think I'll stay here. There're a couple of things I need to look up on the computer."

"Oh." Dean's smile dimmed a little. "Okay. I'll be back in a little bit then, I guess. You want anything special?"

"Nah. Whatever you get will be fine. Just get a variety 'cause I'm hungry!" Sam's mouth tilted up into a half-smile, his dimples putting in an appearance for the first time in a week.

Sam waited until the rumble of the Impala faded away before picking up his cell phone. "Mrs. Proctor? Hi, yeah, this is Sam—Sam Brent in room 16…uh huh…Happy Thanksgiving to you too…yeah…umm hey, Mrs. Proctor, is it okay if I come get the stuff right now? I know it's a little early but…great! I'll see you in a couple of minutes." He hung up the phone and hurried from the motel room.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Dean returned a half hour later, arms laden with holiday goodies. He juggled the bags and beer until his fingers were free enough to insert the key card into the door lock. When the light flashed green, he turned the handle and pushed his way into the room, only to stop in his tracks just across the threshold.

"What the hell? Sam, what is all this?" Dean's wide eyes took in the square card table covered with a festive tablecloth and topped by two huge heaping plates of food, a basket of rolls, and … a bottle of wine? His stunned gaze fixed on Sam who stood next to the table grinning from ear to ear.

"It's a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings."

"I see that—but where…how…I mean…?"

"Mrs. Proctor—the hotel owner. I made arrangements with her yesterday. Thought I'd surprise you."

Dean walked to the table, almost mesmerized by the sparkly silverware and gold-edged china not to mention the tantalizing aroma wafting from the waiting plates. "Huh. Well, it looks like we kinda had the same idea." The older Winchester lifted the bags he held. "I almost changed my mind about the snacks when I saw a little diner across town that's open today. I got dinner AND snacks." Dean sniffed appreciatively the aromas emanating from the table in front of him. "I'm thinking yours is gonna be a hell of a lot tastier." His eyes sparkled with humor. "Little early for wine though, isn't it?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, Mrs. Proctor insisted. Who was I to argue?"

The older sibling set the bags of diner food and variety of junk food down on the counter in the kitchenette and stuck the six-pack of beer in the fridge. "Guess we'll just save all this for later then." Dean clapped his hands together. "Let's eat!"

The food was incredible. Everything they'd imagined a true home-cooked classic Thanksgiving dinner was supposed to be and the Winchester boys dug in with gusto and sheer joy. And, though he would never admit it in a million years to Sam, Dean was even enjoying the wine along with the meal. Finishing nearly simultaneously, the brothers sat back in their chairs with twin groans.

"Now THAT was a hell of a meal, Sammy!" Dean rubbed his stomach before sitting up and grabbing his glass. He stared at the dregs of wine in the bottom for several long moments. "Heya, Sam, I know…I know I don't…um…say it or anything…but I am thankful—you know—for you an' all…" Dean's voice trailed off.

Sam roughly cleared his throat. "Yeah, me too, Dean. I've always been thankful for you—now more than ever." The younger man raised his glass of wine. "To us, Dean. The Winchester brothers—stronger together."

Dean hesitated a second, absorbing the heartfelt toast, before clinking his wine glass against his brother's. "To us." He raised the glass to his lips and drained its contents just as a knock sounded at the door.

Always vigilant, the hunters sprang to their feet and grabbed their guns before approaching the door.

Sam tapped Dean's shoulder, feeling the tension residing there. "Easy, Dean." cautioned Sam, "It's probably just Mrs. Proctor with some pie. She told me she'd bring some buy."

Dean nodded before jerking his chin toward the door.

Taking his cue, Sam called out, "Who is it?"

"Open the door, ya idjits! It's damn cold out here."

Sam yanked open the door and both Winchesters stood there gaping at their unexpected visitor. "Bobby?"

"You gonna let me in or do I have to stand out here and freeze to death while you two do goldfish impressions?"

The brothers moved aside allowing Bobby to enter the room.

"Bobby, how the hell—what the hell are you doing here? I…we…last we knew you were living it up in a banana hammock, frolicking somewhere warm," muttered Dean.

The older hunter snorted at Dean's amusing, though sadly erroneous, supposition. "It's Thanksgiving. I brought pie." He put the pie down on the table and slipped out of his winter coat, hanging it on the back of one of the chairs.

"But how," mused Sam, "how the heck did you know where we were?"

Bobby grinned and shook his head. "Ya idjits. Don't ya know by now that Bobby Singer sees all—knows all?"

Dean looked at his brother and shrugged. Sam matched his gesture. Some of Bobby's ways would always remain mysterious.

Sinking down into a chair, Bobby rubbed a hand over his face. "Like I said, it's Thanksgiving. And I figured this year we've got something extra special to be thankful for." His eyes lingered on Dean for a second or two. Nothing more needed to be said.

Dean's eyes dropped to the floor, and he shifted from foot to foot. "Well, it's…ahh…it's good to see ya, old man."

"Yeah, Bobby," added Sam, "it really IS good to see you today. Hey," Sam hurried over to the counter. "Did you want something to eat? We have more food."

"Nah. I ate on the road. But I wouldn't say no to some decent coffee to go with this pie."

The older Winchester's eyes lit up at the reminder that there was pie. "What kind didya bring?"

"Something called a Cranberry-Apple Custard Pie."

Sam grinned as Dean's eyes practically rolled back in his head in ecstasy. "I'll get a knife."

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Later that evening, the brothers were once again on their own. Bobby had visited for a couple of hours before continuing on his journey home to South Dakota.

Dean popped the top on a couple of beers, handing one to his brother who was stretched out on his bed. He dropped down on the edge of Sam's bed. "Shove over, gigantor." His words blended with the first strains of "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving".

"What? Why? You've got your own bed."

"Yeah, but I can see the TV better from yours."

"Fine." Sam grunted, took a swallow of beer, and moved over. "I can't believe you've never seen this cartoon before."

"Well, I haven't so ssshhh." Dean opened a bag of cheese popcorn and stretched out next to Sam. "Want some?" He shook the bag at Sam.

"God, no! I'm still stuffed from all that food."

"Good. More for me."

"How are you _not_ sick?"

"Ssshhh."

Several minutes went by then, "Boy, that Peppermint Patty sure is a pushy chick. How can she just invite herself to Thanksgiving dinner like that?"

"Gotta feel for poor Chuck," answered Sam.

"Ha! Look at Snoopy," Dean grabbed another handful of popcorn. "He's making buttered toast for dinner. Toast, pretzel sticks, popcorn, and candy." The older Winchester barked out a laugh. "Kinda reminds me of some of our Thanksgiving dinners as kids, huh Sam?"

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

"Oh, look, now that Peppermint girl is complaining about the food. What a bitch!"

The younger Winchester couldn't help it. He snorted out a laugh at Dean's exclamation, coming close to shooting beer out of his nose.

After a few more minutes, Dean crowed, "Hey, Sam! That sounds just like you when you get going on your research and stuff!" Dean laughed and dug an elbow into Sam's ribs. "Wha wha wha wha wha. That's what I hear!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Dean, you didn't even have to tell me that one." He leaned over until his shoulder just barely brushed his brother's. It was good to laugh. It was better to hear his brother laugh.

It definitely was a day to give thanks. Bobby Singer was right. Despite everything, they had something extra special for which to be thankful. And he was once again sitting at Sam's side.

_**Fin**_


End file.
